Blood in the Water
by RingOfKeys
Summary: Steve Randle rarely understands what being a father means. Recently divorced and left with the custody of his three sons, Steve is drowning in newly found responsibility and fear of impending failure. When he is invited to the wedding of his childhood friend, Keith Matthews, Steve reluctantly accepts. Will returning to Tulsa destroy what he's worked so hard to protect?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Steve Randle rarely understands what being a father means. Recently divorced and left with the custody of his three sons, Steve is drowning in newly found responsibility and fear of impending failure. When he is invited to the wedding of his childhood friend, Keith Matthews, Steve reluctantly accepts. He isn't in the mood to relive the tragic memories from his hometown, but when he returns to Tulsa, Oklahoma for the wedding, will he be forced to remember or will he only seal himself off from those who care about him?

* * *

Steve Randle has about three pictures of himself from when he was a child.

One where he's taking a bath in the sink, really young, only about eight months old. He's staring into the camera with curious eyes, his jaw hanging open and his hair dripping with soap and water. On the back of the photograph, the date is written in blue pen; December 18th, 1949.

There's another one where he's probably about two, staring contentedly into the camera, three fingers shoved into his open mouth. His hair is darker, longer, and clutched in his left arm is a button-eyed stuffed bear with a ribbon loosely tied around his neck. On the back of the photograph, the date is written in blue pen; October 27th, 1951.

The last one displays him and another boy, both of them wearing wide smiles and bright eyes as they look into the eye of the camera. He has his arm slung over the fair-haired boy's shoulder, both of them donning backpacks and brown-bag lunches. He's around seven, the boy maybe a little younger at the time. On the back of the photograph, the date is written in black pen; September 3rd, 1956. Below that, a caption that reads "Sodapop and Steve's first day of second grade!"

There's one more, but he burned it. He tossed it into an ashtray and put out his fifth cigarette of the night on the crisp paper, watching the embers devour the moment captured in black and white. August 16th, 1966. He was seventeen, glaring at the camera with both hands shoved into his pockets. He donned his favorite, nearly shredded, denim vest, his tattoo on his left arm completely exposed. The boy from the school picture stood next to him, leaning up against a pillar that supported the DX gas station. His light hair was masked by a bright blue DX hat, his smile shone in the late afternoon sun. He smiled enough for both of them.

Steve never enjoyed photographs, for obvious reasons. He only had those three, technically four, his entire life. However, the camera never left his hand after he had his first child. Same for the next kid, and the next. He's got three albums completely filled with photographs of his three boys. Hundreds of pictures depicting them playing outside, swimming in the lake, chasing each other during a game of tackle football. Hundreds of pictures showing babies taking baths, babies sleeping, babies wrapped in pale blue hospital blankets, faces stained with tears. Hundreds of pictures with Steve, with their mother, with each other, with them as a family on Christmas morning surrounded by ribbons and half-eaten pancakes.

His favorite was a Polaroid of him with his oldest son, Daniel, swaddled in a hospital blanket. They're staring right into each other's eyes, and when he squints he can see Daniel grasping onto his index finger. He was nineteen; he was young, impressionable, and terrified. All he had was his girlfriend, his job, and a high school degree. However, he knew that he needed to put all his doubts aside. He had a kid, and that was all that mattered. A week later, he and Alice moved to Tucson, Arizona, where Alice's parents lived. They got a cramped house a half mile from a huge stretch of desert and he bought his first car so he could drive into town everyday for his job where he did the exact same thing every day. It was better than Vietnam, he knew that.

That was how he justified everything awful that ever happened to him. Mom left you at age five? Better than Vietnam. Dad died and you never even got to say goodbye? Better than Vietnam. Best friend died in Vietnam? Better than Vietnam. He appreciated everything he was given, and by the time his second kid had come along, he had a steady job and a nicer house. He had everything he never thought he would, and he was happy. Alice was happy. In every picture they ever took together, her smile shone brighter than his. But, it was alright. She smiled enough for the both of them.

* * *

Steve Randle hated teenagers.

He hated himself as a teenager. He hated his friends as teenagers. He didn't particularly enjoy his son as a teenager, either. Every parent he had ever met had warned him, years before Daniel had even hit puberty, that adolescence was a living, breathing nightmare. He convinced himself his kid wouldn't be the same, and if he tried to, Steve would prevent it.

He was so stupid.

"You're not taking the day off tomorrow. You signed up for a shift and I have nobody to replace you," He sighed authoritatively as he tried to get the message through to his thick-skulled sixteen-year-old son. Daniel merely rolled his eyes, which was something he did roughly thirty times a day. "You aren't leaving work for a date, understand?" He stated as he pulled into the gravel driveway of his one-story home. The front lights contrasted with the dark blue night sky dotted with stars and a half-obscured moon. One thing that he continued to love about Arizona was the clear night sky, filled with the familiar smell of cigar smoke and crisp winter air. A constant comfort that could never fade from his life, no matter how much everything changed around him.

The two strode inside, Daniel slamming the garage door hard behind him before retreating to his bedroom, slamming that door in the process too. The harsh noise didn't exactly help Steve's growing headache and as he dropped into a seat at the worn kitchen table, he was pleased to find his youngest son, James, shoveling a forkful and macaroni and cheese into his mouth. Talking to one of his boys who wasn't a teenager always helped.

"What's his problem?" James quipped through a mouthful of pasta and Steve couldn't help but crack a smile at his youngest son's blissful ignorance. He noticed the warm bowl of food in front of the kid and shot an appreciative look towards his other son, who was perched on the kitchen counter, eating his own plate of macaroni and cheese. With the recent absence of his mother, thirteen-year-old Chance had stepped in as primary caretaker of the entire house. He cooked, cleaned, and made sure everything was in order and Steve couldn't be more grateful. He was the family's saving grace and without him, they would probably be facing a tower of dirty dishes piled up in the sink.

"Wish I knew," Steve replied with a sigh as he stood from his seat, pausing to mess up James' hair, chuckling slightly at the surly look on his youngest son's face as he attempted to fix his hairstyle. He stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and a bowl before fixing himself a plate of macaroni. He could use the comfort food. He could feel Chance watching him with those ebony eyes and he turned around to face his other son. "Off the counter, please." He ordered, watching that sly grin make its way onto his son's face as he hopped off the newly cleaned kitchen counter. While Chance was certainly out-maturing both his brothers in terms of responsibility, he still tried to rebel as much as he could. Whether it was for comedic purposes or not, Steve figured it was a trait he had picked up from his older brother and dreaded the day Chance would turn into a full-fledged teenager.

"How's it taste?" The boy questioned, dropping his own bowl into the sink and rinsing it out. He pushed a hand through his mop of reddish-brown hair and Steve couldn't help but notice how eerily similar he resembled his mother. The light dusting of freckles across his nose and eyes that none of his brothers shared, his dark eyes that could bore into your soul, and his trusting smile. The boy was looking more and more like Alice each day, and Steve was sure Chance knew it too.

"Amazing, as always," he replied with a smirk, finishing up his last bite. "James, say thank you to your brother." He called into the dining room, both of them laughing quietly when they heard a muffled, "Thank you!" from James. He placed his now empty bowl into the sink next to the other one, chuckling slightly at Chance's mock disgruntled look.

"So, now I gotta do all the freaking work around here, huh?" He snapped with fake irritance, rolling his eyes with a huff. Steve grinned as he grabbed the dish towel and slung it around his son's neck like a scarf.

"You cook, you clean, Cinderella," Steve laughed, earning one of Chance's signature smiles. He grabbed another bowl and began to fix his oldest son a plate as Chance placed the dishes in the dishwasher. "I'm bringing this to Danny, I'll clean it off, don't worry," he elaborated and his son nodded, hopping back up onto the kitchen counter. "You should get to bed, kid. It's getting late." He reminded his son who merely groaned at Steve's request.

"It's 8:30, Dad," he grumbled. "Even James is still awake." He pointed out with a sigh, gesturing towards the kitchen.

"Even I'm still awake!" James piped up, unaware of the conversation topic. However, as soon as he heard even the slightest mention of his name, he considered himself officially apart of the conversation. Steve chuckled as he remembered how he and Alice would always have to whisper or lock their bedroom door when they were discussing anything about the boy.

"Okay, okay," he agreed with a resigned look. "Just make sure your brother gets to bed soon, alright?" He offered and Chance nodded, pleased with his father's decision. He was just about to leave with the bowl of food for Daniel when his son stopped him suddenly.

"Wait!" He cried, suddenly remembering a vital piece of information. "You gotta letter from this guy who called you 'Steve-o'," he explained, rummaging around in the stack of mail for the letter he was referring to. He held it out for Steve who grabbed the piece of mail immediately. He was right, it was addressed to Steve-o Randle in Tucson, Arizona. The return address made his throat go as dry as the hot desert air. He grasped the letter tightly in both hands, just mesmerized by the return address. He felt as if a fifty-foot wave had crashed on top of him, drowning him in the process. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. "What kinda name is 'Two-Bit' anyway?" The boy scoffed, pulling Steve from his trance and bringing him back to reality. He forced a laugh before shoving the letter into his back pocket, ignoring Chance's prying stare. "What? Is it bad?" He questioned and Steve shook his head instantly.

"Just a friend from when I was a kid," He elaborated and the boy nodded solemnly. Steve rarely ever discussed his childhood around his kids. All they knew was that he was born in Oklahoma, both of his parents were dead, and he had no siblings. There were no enticing stories about childhood adventures or charming antecdotes about his parents. Alice was the parent with the huge, extended family, loads of cousins, aunts, uncles, and siblings. So, she was the parent they always turned to for family tree projects at school and she was the parent whose family always hosted huge Thanksgiving parties. Alice and the boys were the only family Steve claimed he had ever known, and that was good enough for him. "Get your brother to bed, please." He reminded his son as he ran a shaking hand through his mop of dark brown hair. His hand rested on a deep scar an inch away from his hairline and he swallowed a lump in his throat. He really didn't need these memories coming back to haunt him tonight.

"Yeah, but um, Dad?" The boy called out once more and Steve turned once more to face his son, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. "D'you think we could play night football tonight?" He questioned hopefully and Steve couldn't stifle his miniscule grin. Night football was a game Steve and Daniel had invented after Steve had taken his new job and only got home after dark. It was basically football, but played at night with the porch light turned on. He nodded, thanking the stars for the new distraction. Anything to get his mind off of the letter which was burning a hole in his back pocket. Pleased by his answer, Chance instantly jumped off the kitchen counter and went to search for his younger brother, eager to get his task done with new motivation.

Steve made the brisk walk from the kitchen to Daniel's room which he shared with Chance. The room was split in two, both sides vastly different. Daniel's side was absolutely covered with rock band posters and magazine pull-outs of half-naked girls; basically, the epitome of typical teenage boy's bedroom. Chance's side was decked out with photographs. Polaroids of him and his friends, of the family, and even of abstract inanimate objects like a streetlight or a willow tree. He had bought Chance his first camera nearly a year ago and the boy was rarely seen without it. He was the photographer for the school newspaper and prided himself upon his position even though all he did was take quick pictures of school functions at Oppurtunity Junior High. Daniel sat at his desk, the room illuminated by the light from his desk lamp as he worked on what Steve hoped was a homework assignment. Music blared from his Walkman which Steve recognized to be one of his son's favorite rock bands that all the other mothers in the country claimed was the 'devil's music'. He placed the still warm bowl of macaroni and cheese on the boy's desk, catching his attention.

"Hey, kid," he greeted as he took a seat on Daniel's bed, groaning as he felt some of his joints crack. He felt ten years older than thirty-five, but that was due to the long days he spent under cars. If he wanted to look younger, he would have gone into a different profession. He watched as Daniel removed his headphones and turned to face his father, his best 'fuck off' face greeting Steve. It was a look he had worked on since he was three and Steve announced he was getting a baby brother. "Danny, I'm sorry I snapped at you, but you need to learn responsibility. You can't just take off work to go out with a girl." He reasoned, realizing he had to be the one to start the conversation.

"What? You want me to be more like Chance?" He questioned as he cocked his eyebrow dangerously, his dark eyes glaring at Steve. His mouth was twisted into a sarcastic grimace as he spat his younger brother's name, almost as if it was poison on his tongue.

"Okay, I never said tha-" he began, but was cut off by a furious Daniel.

"You did last week!" He insisted and Steve had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying something he'd regret. He took a deep breath before he continued, choosing his words wisely.

"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have compared you to your brother. However, I do want you to realize that being mature and responsible is more important than a date. Alright?" He pointed out. Reluctantly, Daniel gave a small nod, dropping his glare. He was never skilled at staying mad for long. Feeling sympathetic, Steve continued. "Look, if you work hard all day tomorrow and really focus, I'll extend your curfew so you can take this girl out after work, sound good?" The promise of a longer curfew instantly cheered up his teenage son and Hunter agreed almost immediately. Okay, so it wasn't the greatest parenting technique, but it sure as hell worked.

"Thanks, Dad." Daniel smiled enthusiastically as he turned back to his homework. Steve left the room, feeling satisfied with his handling of the situation. He stole a quick look in James' bedroom, pleased to find the young boy laying in bed, fixated on his copy of 'Stuart Little', mouthing the words silently to himself. Steve pulled a slight grin before making his way back to the kitchen. Chance had finished cleaning up and left, most likely to retrieve his football. Finally alone, Steve took his seat at the table once more, removing the now crumpled letter from his back pocket. He tore open the envelope in one swift motion, his hand hovering over the crisp white paper. If he pulled the paper out, he'd be playing with fire and expecting not to get burned. He yearned to know what was written on that paper, but he also dreaded it simultaneously. A sense of mistrust had been placed in anything that originated in Tulsa, Oklahoma, especially Two-Bit Matthews. He never wished to see anyone from that desolate one-horse town ever again, and here he was, actually considering reading this letter and ruining everything. It had been sixteen years since he had been back there, and some letter wasn't going to change his mind about his decision. Everything in his life had fallen into place after he left Tulsa, and he didn't need the pain and unpleasant memories that came with returning to his hometown.

Just as he was about to make his decision about the letter, he heard Chance's soft footsteps as he strode into the kitchen, carrying his football under his arm. Steve instantly shoved the letter back into the envelope, pushing it under one of the emerald green placemats that sat upon the table. He silently reminded himself to retrieve it after the game of night football before one of his sons found it and started asking questions.

"Ready to go, kid?" He asked, pushing back his seat and clambering to his feet, stretching as he did so. Chance nodded, opening the back door as Steve followed him outside. The dim porch light illuminated their faces in the evening. He watched as his son tossed him a spiral, catching it firmly between his hands. As they tossed the ball back and forth, his mind wandered, even though he didn't intend for it to. He wanted so desperately to seal off his mind from the haunting memories that returned to him when there was nothing to take his mind off of them. The very thought of whatever may lie within made him feel like that scared, young teenager again; he hated that feeling. Whatever was in that letter was persistent and he could not get it out of his head. As much as he loved his life, his kids, even Alice, he needed to know what was in that letter. Tulsa, Oklahoma would never leave him alone.

A/N: So, I'm aware it's an overused concept. However, I've been contemplating joining the fanfic community for months now and I figured what better way to do so than this? Well, there is probably a better way to do so but whatever. It would mean the world to me if after reading this story you show me your support by clicking that little review button down there and leaving a nice comment? If not, that's perfectly cool too! Thanks for reading and have a nice day!


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning brought both the sun and a wave of immense guilt.

As Steve fixed breakfast for himself and the boys, he tried to avoid glancing over to the table as much as possible. He could see the slightly raised placemat out of the corner of his eye. He could hear the ripping of the envelope every time silence invaded the house. He could see his fingers ghosting over the eggshell white paper, contemplating whether or not to remove it from its place in the envelope. Decisions were never his strong suit, that was Alice's place. He handled the finances, his job, and his kids and that was it; he had chosen to stay as far away as possible from life-changing decisions that could disrupt everything. So far, his decision had been beneficial, seeing as how he hadn't even heard the name 'Tulsa' in four years.

He had promised himself he would open the letter after his game of night football with Chance. Then, he had promised himself he would open the letter after making sure Chance and Daniel both finished whatever homework they needed help with. After that, he had promised himself he would open the letter after all three boys got to bed alright. However, as every task was finished, a new one arose and he eventually ended up telling himself he'd open the letter in the morning. Morning came much too quickly.

"Guys! Breakfast is ready!" He called to the rest of the house as he slid two pancakes onto each plate, placing the slightly burned one on his own. He began to clean up the kitchen just as all three boys made their way into the kitchen, automatically grabbing a plate of pancakes. Steve had certainly improved in his cooking skills in the last four months. After Alice left, they were rendered basically helpless in the food department. While Steve used to help her cook, he didn't know how to make the elaborate dishes she conjured up which always seemed to be both healthy and beneficial. He knew how to cook basic dishes already, such as pasta and more pasta, but he had no idea what growing kids needed to eat to stay healthy. In the first few weeks of Alice's abscence, their meals consisted mostly of salad and pasta. Eventually, everyone got tired of salad and pasta, so he spiced it up a little by putting chicken in the salad. Unfortunatley, that wasn't the change they needed. Chance stepped up to the plate and started buying cookbooks with his allowance money. His first dish he ever made nearly burned down the house. The second dish he ever made was not catastrophic; it was grilled chicken with a lemon dressing and it was heavenly compared to salad and pasta. So, Steve started letting his son cook, which seemed to please everybody in the end. While he still helped out around the kitchen, it was mainly Chance's domain, which was fine by Steve.

While Steve wasn't usually a fan of the chaos of typical Tuesday mornings in the house, he was prepared to delay the inevitable and forestall any opening of any letters. He listened intently as his sons rambled on about their lives, only stopping between phrases to scarf down a bite of pancake.

"Dad, I have to stay after school today for baseball."

"Dad, I got a B on my Trig test so can I use the car this weekend?"

"Dad, I still don't know how to tie my shoes. Can you help?"

Ever since his immediate transformation into the primary parent of his household, Steve was constantly bombarded with twice as much work as usual. Trying to balance his own business while making sure his son had a clean uniform for his baseball game that Sunday did not prove to be an easy task. However, he wore himself thin each day to make every deadline and help with every project and make sure everything at work was going smoothly. He couldn't say it was an easy job, but he wouldn't trade it for a life of loneliness and an alcohol addiction. Ever since he was a teenager, he promised himself he would exceed everyone's expectations. He wouldn't end up like his father, left to rot in an old ghost town where the ghost wasn't even dead. There was this kid in his old group of friends, Ponyboy Curtis. The golden child. Constantly praised by his family, the rest of their friends, and the school, Ponyboy didn't have a doubt in his life. He flew threw high school with flying colors, greedily accepting the plaudits from his teachers and family. Nobody ever praised Steve for staying in school. Nobody ever looked at Steve and knew he would succeed. If nobody did it for him, he would have to do it for himself; which was exactly what he did. Looking back on his life, Steve knew he was better than his father. If he could do that right, he could do anything right. Looking at his kids, he knew he had done a lot right.

The three boys were soon out the door, complaining about tests and quizzes and untied shoelaces. The silence that invaded the cramped kitchen was overbearing, but he couldn't move from his seat. He knew if he stood up to do the dishes, he would never make his way back to the letter; courage was an easy thing to lose for him and he often misplaced it in dire times. So, he slid the folded envelope out from underneath the placemat, telling himself that on the count of three he'd pull out the letter. It took him about ten times of counting to three before he finally pulled out the white parchment, skillfully unfolding the document. His eyes scanned the paper, making their way timidly up to the center where a cursive title screamed "You've been invited to the wedding of Keith Matthws and Robin Kelly!"

He nearly choked on air.

That was what he was so stressed about. That was the letter that had taunted him for hours, never quite leaving his thoughts no matter how hard he tried. A wedding invitation had sent his heart racing every time he subconsciously thought about it and distracted him from the world. A freaking wedding invitation.

He contemplated crumbling it up, tossing it in the trash, a forgetting it ever happened. However, some invisible force prohibited him from doing so. He skimmed the letter once more, noting the distinguished calligraphy and dates. The wedding was a week from that Saturday. Even if by some miracle he actually wanted to go and catch up with everyone, he couldn't. Aside from the fact he worked everyday, he had three kids to take care of that certainly wouldn't be interested in going to a wedding in Oklahoma. He set the letter down on the cluttered kitchen counter, still unable to just toss it into the trash can; he cared too much about sentimentality sometimes. He had no idea why he was forcing himself to be so miserable, he knew even looking at the letter would bring about a wave of unwanted emotion and memories, but he just didn't have it in himself to throw it away. He'd probably discover the obscure reason for his inability to just forget about the letter, but for the moment, he had a life to live. He couldn't put everything on hold to contemplate the meaning of a wedding invitation and just think about his old life. He would put off thinking about his old life until the end of time, even if it killed him in the end. Thinking was worse than being.

* * *

Work was calming.

The grinding of metal car pieces, the thud of the bass coming from the radio on Sammy's workstation that constantly played 70's hits, the shouting from a displeased customer, the smell of paint as some detailed a nice car was serene to everyone that worked at Spencer's Auto.

Steve didn't have much ambition until his first child was born. He had just graduated high school, just returned from a six-month service in Vietnam, and had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He was out of work, out of school, and out of dreams. So, the second Alice offered, he booked it to Arizona with her without even looking back. He didn't care much for the hellhole that had become Tulsa, Oklahoma and had no real connection to it aside from a few people he had left behind in his wake. He had always explained to Alice how much he longed to work on cars and start his own auto body repair shop. Alice's somewhat benevolent father, always the eavesdropper, overheard him speaking so passionately about his cars and offered to go into business with Steve so Steve could leave his job downtown. He accepted in a heartbeat. Spencer's Auto opened that year, 1972, and had remained opened since, even after Mr. Spencer passed away. Despite his partner's death, he was still planning to open two more locations in Arizona that year, he could use the money.

That was what he was doing that morning in the only office in the vicinity, silently appreciating how all the noise and calamity from the garage seeped into the office and almost calmed him somehow. He was planning out the location of the two separate garages when the phone rang, almost startling him. He absentmindedly answered as he continued his work, balancing the phone between his shoulder and his cheek.

"Spencer's Auto, this is Steve Randle." He greeted, the protocol he had created for when he answered the phone in his office so he could sound relatively professional.

"Hey! Steve-o! You get my letter?"

He could feel his stomach drop. He hadn't heard that voice in fifteen long years, he didn't want to. He had always heard people tell him that his past would catch up to him, that you could never escape your past. He ignored their comments, blatantly brushing them off as sentimental bullshit created by a generation of nostalgic idiots. He knew now that they were all partially true. He couldn't help his ragged breathing, the panicked shaking of his hands, the speeding up of his heartbeat. This wasn't happening.

He needed to hang up, but he couldn't. His hands wouldn't work.

"What do you want? I'm at work." He questioned, treating his old childhood accomplice the same way he treated one of his sons when they called him at work even though they knew they shouldn't.

"Why so harsh, Stevie? Don't you love me no more?" He drawled, feigning sadness. Steve couldn't help but roll his eyes, not at all amused by the man's easygoing personality.

"I'm hanging up." He stated simply. He didn't have the time or the energy to deal with grown men who still acted like children.

"Wait! C'mon, lighten up Randle," he chuckled lightheartedly. Steve merely remained in tight-lipped silence, the only noise that could be heard in the office being the scratching of his pencil on his pad of paper as he reminded himself to call the foreman that would be working on the new shop location. "Okay, look, I want to know if you're coming to my wedding or not. It would be really nice to have you there." Two-Bit elaborated, for once sounding somewhat serious. Steve let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in as he glanced up from his notepad.

"I have kids and work, I can't just get up one day and leave for a weeken-" he began, irritation evident in his voice as Two-Bit cut him off halfway through his excuse.

"You can bring your kids if you want, Steve. It's not gonna be this huge, fancy event." He offered and Steve found himself nearly rolling his eyes once more. Couldn't this man tell he didn't want to go? "A few of us are getting together before the wedding. Pony's coming into town and we're all gonna stay at Darry's house for a few days. If you're interest-" this time, it was Steve who cut of the other man.

"I think I'm good, I'll get a hotel room." He scoffed, running a hand through his dark hair, letting his bangs fall back into his eyes. He could remember a somewhat distant time when his hair was literally constantly loaded up with three pounds of product and grease. He considered himself the top of the town, he and his friends ruled their street and could take on anything or anyone that challenged them; that mantra fell away real fast.

"So, you're coming?" The other man asked, Steve able to hear his mile-wide smile from over the phone. He wanted to be equally as excited, but he just couldn't, he only felt sick.

"Goodbye, Keith." He merely said before hanging up the phone, letting the noise of work consume him once more and drown all of his worries.

* * *

He found his two younger sons the same way he found them the night before.

James was at the table, concentrating on one of his homework sheets. Chance was in the kitchen, trying to work through what looked like a page of algebra equations and Steve found it in himself to grin at his middle son's confused and somewhat furious expression. Daniel lurked behind him as they walked in from work, instantly rushing to the kitchen to get himself a helping of whatever a Chance had cooked up that night. Although his oldest son only worked after school, he had complained the entire drive home about how absolutely exhausting work was. Steve wasn't in the mood to reprimand him for his pointless grumbling, so he merely ignored him and let his son vent. Besides, there was something else on his mind the entire night.

As he automatically helped himself to a bowl of soup, he took his seat at the table next to James who had resigned to just doodling pictures of explosions in the margins of his homework. All of his sons struggled with their math, and unfortunately Steve wasn't exactly a genius, but he always set aside an hour or so every night to check their work.

As soon as he sat down, he was joined by both Chance and Daniel, both immersed in a mumbling conversation, probably involving girls or music. He was genuinely surprised the way they were all sitting together at the table, as it was a rather rare occurrence in the Randle household after Alice had left. Chance made dinner for the family after school, usually leaving afterwards to go be with his friends or for baseball practice, Daniel and Steve always got home late, and James often spent his afternoons with Chance or with one of his school friends who lived close by. They weren't exactly a family, but at the same time they were.

"How would you guys like to take a few days off school?" He suddenly proposed, surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. All three boys looked up at him at once, also shocked. Steve placed a great amount of importance on school and Daniel had experienced his anger firsthand his entire life whenever his grades sunk below C's or better. So, for Steve to offer something as inane as leaving school for a few days, they were slightly confused and taken aback.

"Why?" Daniel ventured, wary of his father's reasoning. The last time the boys had been pulled out of school early was nearly five months ago when Alice had left. Steve had come home from work early that day, feeling sick and not prepared to work. He and Alice had suffered a particularly nasty fight the night prior, but they had worked through it. He remembered one of her crystal wine glasses shattering on the floor after he accused her of putting her ambitions in front of her family. Alice longed to be swept up in the culture and art that engrossed the rest of the country, after expressing that she wanted to travel by herself over the summer, Steve was enraged. However, they made up in the end, they always did. So, he was surprised to find the hand-written note resting on the kitchen counter. She left him basically everything, packed up her clothes and trinkets, closed their joint bank account, and left. The note claimed California, but that was five months ago. He had no idea where his wayward wife had traveled to, and neither did her concerned children. He had taken all three boys out of school early that day and broken the news over dinner at their favorite fast food place downtown. He didn't show them the note, a note that they weren't even mentioned in. Instead, he obscured the truth and told them she had left a note saying how much she loved all of them, and how her and Steve just didn't work. It was the same cliche that had been used since the dawn of time, but he couldn't help himself. The look on his sons' faces were more heartbreaking than anything Alice had done that day.

"Just thinking we could take a little trip, a buddy of mine invited me to his wedding and I thought it could be fun." The word tasted strange in his mouth. He didn't much importance on having fun with his kids, and although he knew he should, that was always more of Alice's job. He worked eleven hours a day to put food on the table, to make sure everyone was clothed, to make sure they all got to school all right. When Alice's absence was still hitting them, he would take all three out every weekend for an activity, but after about the fourth week, they caught onto his ploy and stopped playing along.

"Is that what that letter was about?" Chance questioned, leaning forward in his seat, suddenly more interested. Always the sharpest, of course Chance hadn't forgotten about the letter. The kid caught on quicker than Steve always preferred.

"Yeah, so what do you guys want to do?" He questioned, instantly dropping the subject of the letter, much to the confusion of the other two boys. He tried to ignore Chance's prying gaze, but it was difficult. He always only felt obliged to answer to his kids.

"If it gets me out of school, I'm in." Daniel scoffed in-between bites of cornbread. James nodded in agreement, still fixated on the pictures he was drawing all over his homework that Steve would undoubtedly tell him to erase later.

"Sounds good." Chance shrugged, still locked in an intense staring match with his father. He held his son's eyes for a moment, unable to break away. He often reflected on his sons as kids and his sons now, and something had shifted within Chance. Something had turned him from the open, extroverted child he was into a wary, tenuous, stressed mess he was now. At least at home, Steve could tell that his son was different; he had no idea what sort of pretense the boy kept up at school and for all of his friends. Steve could always guess, but it was hard to read someone who was so much like himself without even trying to be. Emotions were merely an option for Chance, and he had turned them off long ago. He wanted so badly to tell his son that it was okay to feel, because he knew if a boy his age got too tough and too alone, he'd end up the same way troubled boys from Steve's past did. Troubled boys illuminated in streetlights, getting shot at by the police. Troubled boys dying in hospital beds with their best friends sobbing over them. Troubled boys running away and never facing anyone ever again, even if they really wanted to.

* * *

A/N: Thank you guys so so so much for all of your kind reviews and comments! Honestly I was so glad to read all of your thoughts that I wrote this chapter a few days early to thank all of you! I really hope you like this chapter and that you guys are digging the story! Feel free to leave more reviews, but if you don't feel like it that's okay too. Have a great week!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hey everybody! Thanks so much to everyone who left a review for chapter two! Your comments really help motivate me to write this story as they do for any author in this website. Seriously, I'm always ecstatic whenever I get a review, so just keep that in mind next time you read a chapter. This doesn't just apply to this story, but for any story you read and thoroughly enjoy on this website. Okay, I'm going to get off my soapbox now. Please enjoy chapter three everyone!

* * *

"Dad?"

The sudden call pulled him from his trance. He was nearly asleep, lost deep in his own train of thought. He began merely wondering about what they needed to pack for their trip to Tulsa, when they were leaving, where they were stopping; but it quickly morphed into a reflection of his own fears. He silently wondered if his sons considered him a coward for returning to his hometown sixteen years later for no good reason. He wondered if he was making the right decision by bringing his sons back and forcing them to witness him relive the memories of his past. He wondered if Alice was the one who had given Two-Bit his address, for he knew he had never given anyone from his past any ideas of his whereabouts. For all they knew, he had disappeared off the face of the earth.

He let out a tired groan as he flipped over on his side and stretched to turn on the lamp resting on his bedside table. The dim light illuminated his master bedroom and reminded him just how empty the other side of the bed was. He found it somewhat funny that even after Alice had departed, he still slept on his designated side of their bed. Maybe it was out of respect for her, he couldn't tell, but whatever it was, it prompted Daniel to make jokes about the whole situation. While he knew that was his oldest son's coping mechanism for most things, he often had to remind Daniel to be more sensitive or to tone it down.

"Hey, kid," he greeted, his voice hoarse from lack of speech. James stood in the open doorway, his hair a tousled mess indicating a sleepless night full of tossing and turning in his lone twin bed. In his arms, he clutched his ragged and worn stuffed elephant. Even at eight, James was still the baby of the family and everybody treated him as such. Steve and Alice had always absentmindedly spoiled him, which was why he constantly acted younger or around his age while Daniel and Chance acted years older. His coworker, Mike, always referred to it as youngest-child-syndrome, but Steve referred to it as feeling sympathetic for his son when Daniel and Chance would always ditch the kid for their friends. "Did you have another nightmare?" He questioned, trying to tame his own unruly hair as James stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. The boy merely shook his head.

"Are we gonna leave Arizona now that Mom is gone?" He mumbled quietly under his breath, emotion evident in his tone. Steve heaved a sigh and sat even further up in bed, motioning for James to get into the bed. The boy didn't hesitate and immediately climbed into the king-sized bed, crawling under the tangled bedsheet and pulling the soft comforter up to his chin. Steve ran a comforting hand through his youngest son's hair, trying to soothe his irrational fears.

"What gave you that idea, buddy?" He questioned sincerely as James burrowed even further into the bed, still clutching his stuffed elephant. After his mother had left, James had become signifigantly more clingy and as his brothers grew up around him and spent more time with each other and their friends, James stuck to Steve like glue. Even if Steve was just going to the store, he would request to go too and never stray far from Steve at all. While he did tend to worry about his son's self sufficience, he didn't mind it at all; he was the only parent the kid had and he would never fully understand why his mother just up and left him one day, so Steve just encouraged it even if he knew he shouldn't.

"Cause, Chance and Danny said we were goin' back to where you were born and they said you probably wanted to move back or somethin'." The boy elaborated, sniffling slightly as he spoke. Steve sighed and wiped a tear rolling down the boy's cheek with his thumb. He knew that even talking about Tulsa was some sort of bad omen and he wished he could just take back anything he had said at dinner that evening.

"I promise you we're not moving anywhere, especially not back to there," he comforted, stifling a yawn. He stole a glance over to his clock, restraining a sigh. 3:17 AM. He had to be up for work in less than two hours and he had barely gotten a wink of sleep that night. "Besides, your brothers were just tryin' to scare you like they always do, so don't worry about it, okay?" He continued, feeling James nod under the hand he was still combing through his hair. The boy's eyelids slowly began to droop and he moved closer to Steve, pressing his face up against Steve's side. Steve somewhat envied his son's ability to fall asleep so easily. His only doubt in the world was put to rest and as soon as he realized everything was fine, he fell back asleep with ease. It was almost as if he was still a baby and all Steve had to do was hold him for a few minutes before he could fall back asleep. He wouldn't admit it, but he often missed the days when he could just hold one of his sons, keeping them close by. Now, they were maturing at a faster than average rate, growing up and making plans and while it was inspiring to know they could still hope, it was also a little heartbreaking. However, he simply brushed it off as something all fathers went through at some point in time. He longed to know if Alice felt that way, wherever she was in the country. He longed to know if she missed her kids and what strength it must have taken to just give up all responsibility in a heartbeat. He longed to know what made her think that was okay.

He knew he thought about Alice too much. He knew what she did was wrong and he should just move on. But, he couldn't, which was what scared him the most.

* * *

Steve decided they would leave on Tuesday.

They would be a few days early for the wedding, which wasn't ideal, but had to do. He was forced to take his first break from work that year, using of five of his fourteen vacation days. On the contrary, his sons were quite ecstatic about missing school. All of Sunday and Monday, all they would talk about was how they would miss some sort of test or not have to participate in some class activity. While he was somewhat pleased they were so excited about the trip, he couldn't keep down the uncertainty and the nerves that always came back to him at odd times during the day. He wished he forestall the inevitable and prevent Tuesday forever. He didn't want to make the fifteen hour drive to Tulsa with three boys, he didn't want to ever see any inch of Oklahoma ever again, and he certainly didn't care about Keith Matthews' stupid marriage which would last for all of three weeks.

Monday night, he didn't sleep. He didn't expect himself to either. He tossed and turned, trying to push any thoughts of Tulsa, Oklahoma from his mind. However, every time he closed his eyes he couldn't stop the distress and anxiety from rising, preventing him from sleeping. He couldn't believe himself; he was terrified of a town, of his memories, of people he used to call his friend. When he was young, he wasn't afraid of anything and he prided himself on that. He would face anyone in a fight just to back up a guy he barely knew. He drank himself stupid nearly every night with kids he called his best friends. He covered up all the sorrow and the loneliness with alcohol and parties and fighting and expected it never to catch up with him. However, the sadness certainly caught up soon enough, causing him to leave. He still couldn't believe it, he was going back with his hypothetical tail tucked between his legs.

Tuesday morning was about five times worse as the night prior. They were supposed to leave at six AM sharp, so of course they ended up leaving at eight. The whirlwind of chaos that took place in his house that morning should have been a clear indication that he should have just dropped the three off at school and gone to work, leaving any and all plans to go to Oklahoma. First, James couldn't find the rented tuxedo for the wedding which cost them thirty minutes, (it was on the floor of his closet in a heap). Then, Daniel slipped carrying his coffee, sending the mug and the scalding hot liquid flying everywhere which cost them a good ten minutes. After that, Chance and James got into an all out brawl over who would take shotgun first which cost them five minutes but techinally ten if Steve counted the five minutes he had to take to calm down James after Chance shoved him. Not to mention the fact that Steve thought he lost his suitcase because he had made the genius decision to put it in the trunk of his car the night prior.

As Steve settled into the front seat of the car, he pulled his cheap pair of sunglasses over his eyes, allowing himself a brief rest from the chaos of the house. The moment of repose was interrupted almost instantly, however, as all three slid into the car simultaneously, Chance and James still fighting over some nonsense, and Daniel begging him to let him drive for the first hour.

"Please, Dad! Let me drive, just for a little bit! Nothing'll happen, I swear!" He pleaded somewhat pathetically. After about ten minutes on the road, Steve gave in. He didn't actually feel at ease letting Daniel drive his beloved car with two hyperactive kids yelling and bickering in the backseat. However, he wasn't in the mood to hear Daniel's begging any longer and he parallel parked, switching places with his oldest son. Daniel shot him a nervous grin as he placed his hands on the wheel. Just as he was about to get back onto the road and get out of the parallel park, he moved forward and inch too much and promptly rear ended the car in front of them, leaving dents in both the front of Steve's car and the back of the other car.

"Wanna trade?" Daniel smirked tentatively, trying to avoid Steve's glare from behind his sunglasses.

"Get out," Steve sighed immediately, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. Daniel didn't hesitate to slide out of the driver's seat, switching places with Steve who could hear both Chance and James trying to stifle their laughing in the backseat. As soon as they were back on the road, Steve turned to his oldest son who was staring glumly out the window. "You're not driving for the rest of this trip." He informed Daniel who gave Steve a slight smile.

"Understood." He replied.

* * *

"What's so special 'bout this place anyway?"

They had just entered Texas. They had just entered hour nine of their fifteen hour drive. Steve had just about entered the brink of insanity. Fortunately, around hour six, they had pulled over and gotten enough food to feed a hoard of buffalo at some greasy diner in New Mexico, and the boys fell asleep almost instantly after that. For two peaceful hours he was all alone with nothing but his thoughts and the car radio which kept cutting in and out. Eventually, he decided that he didn't exactly prefer being alone in a car with his thoughts and "accidentally" woke them up. It was nearing sunset when Steve finally decided to find a motel in Dumas, Texas, which was a town almost as desolate as Tulsa.

"What place, kid?" Steve questioned with a groan as he hit a pothole right in the center of the road. He eyed James, who had asked the question, through the rearview mirror, taking in account his tousled hair and the way he squirmed in his seat uncomfortably, indicating he had to use the restroom. Steve hoped they would come across a motel soon.

"Um, the town where we're going," he explained hesitantly, avoiding Steve's gaze. "The place you were born, I just forgot the name. I know it starts with a T..." His voice trailed off with uncertainty and he looked to his brother for an answer.

"It's Tulsa, stupid." Chance shot back, rolling his eyes irritably. Always the know-it-all, Chance couldn't stand watching anybody struggle for answers. While his teachers always told Steve he was sharp for his age, they constantly complained about his denouncing of other kids in the middle of class. Steve found it hilarious, the rest of the parents did not. That was one of the aspects of his life that isolated him from the parents of his son's friends; they all thought he was some sort of failure because he was a single father and his thirteen-year-old son thought he knew everything in the world. He didn't tell Chance what the boy's English teacher told him, which was to have Chance stay quiet in class for a change rather than 'bullying' other students because of their lack of information. It took a lot to shake Steve, calling his son a bully would be at the top of that list. While he agreed that Chance could tone down the arrogance at times, it wasn't like he was beating up kids after class. The kid was steadfast and liked by everyone, so why did all the adults in his life decide to turn against him? Because he didn't have two parents?

"Chance..." He warned, raising an eyebrow over the top of his sunglasses. One thing his middle son didn't quite grasp was the fact that James didn't catch on as quick as the other two. He often had trouble remembering simple things, which was why Steve never flat out gave him the answers. He wanted his son to grow rather than be handed whatever he needed.

"Yeah, so what's so great about Tulsa?" James questioned again, sitting up taller in his seat so he could meet his father's gaze in the mirror. "How long did you live there?" He asked, suddenly spinning an interview on Steve.

"Um, 'til I was about nineteen." He provided, pretending to contemplate his answer. 'About' was bullshit, he could recall the exact time he drove out of Tulsa on the exact day in the exact car, (4:46 AM, March 18th, 1968, bright blue Chevy c10).

"What kind of shit did you pull there, huh, Dad?" Daniel chimed in with a mischievous smirk, causing Steve to roll his eyes.

"Language," he chided, scouring the sides of the streets for open motels as he tried to recall one of his more wild stories from Tulsa. He had a few, but they usually ended in somebody getting arrested or hurt, which wasn't exactly the greatest influence for any of his kids. Finally, he decided on one of the cleaner ones. "There was this kid I knew back then, Tim Shepard. He had this kid brother, Curly, and we all used to hang around sometimes even though they belonged to a different ga-um, group," he began, reprimanding himself silently for nearly saying gang. Even though they groups they stuck to were hardly gangs, he still didn't want to put the image in his sons minds that he was some kind of hood when he was their age. "Anyway, we were at this...place one day and Tim runs in, yelling and hollering at me and one of my friends. He tells us that our stupid friend had 'really done it this time' and we needed to help him home." He elaborated, masking the real identity of Buck's, a local bar run by a guy who didn't care if there were thirteen-year-olds swiping booze. His sons definitley didn't need to know about his underage drinking habits, even though he knew for a fact that Daniel was well aware of where to get alcohol for a party with his crazy friends.

"What did the guy do?" James asked, enticed by Steve's somewhat vague and censored story.

"Well, me and this friend walk outside with Tim and we see our friend, Keith, standing in the middle of the road with blood pouring out of his nose," smirking slightly as Chance pulled a disgusted face, a clear indication he was listening too. "So, my friend asks Tim, 'what happened?' and Tim tells us Keith mistook Tim's kid sister, Angela, for a prostitute while drunk and tried to, y'know..." His voice trailed off as Daniel started laughing at James' utterly confused face and Steve quickly remembered his son had no idea what a prostitute was. "Anyway, we walked Keith home and let's just say he was never allowed near Angela Shepard again." He finished, also amused by his youngest son's confusion. Chance, however, still wasn't satisfied and pried further with an intimidating stare.

"Why haven't you ever told us any other stories, Dad?" He pressed and Steve bit his lower lip, trying to ignore the boy's comment. He knew his son saw right through him at times, always wanting more to every story. He wasn't wrong either, Steve rarely told them anything about Tulsa. Now, he was dragging his sons on a fifteen hour long road trip to a place they had only heard about in small bits of conversation. They knew nothing, and Steve intended to keep it that way forever. So, of course Chance wanted a better explanation than a wedding for a reason to leave everything for six days.

"Just don't like talking about it, I guess." He offered quietly, trying to eliminate the tension that had consumed the car. Finally, he spotted a motel down the road and began to pick up his driving pace.

"So why are we going there anyway?" He continued, Steve choosing to ignore the arrogance in his son's tone. Chance wasn't aware of anything that had gone down in Tulsa, and he wasn't barely aware of anything in Steve's life. He was the only kid who wasn't so easily placated by Alice's childhood stories, he was the only kid who didn't believe a word Steve said five months prior when he told them their mom had left, and he was the only kid Steve knew he would have trouble with. He always got what he wanted, and now he wanted an explanation for Steve's returning to Tulsa after sixteen long years. However, Steve couldn't provide an answer he didn't know.

"Just shut it, Chance." Daniel snapped at the backseat, saving Steve from another tension-filled moment as he pulled into the car port of the Nightingale Motel and removed the keys from his car. As they clambered out of the car, stretching and grabbing various bags, he could feel Chance's prying eyes boring into his as Steve placed a hand on James' back, leading him towards the motel.

"What's a prostitute?" James suddenly asked, breaking away any remnants of uncomfortable silences. Steve laughed and gave his youngest son a pat on the shoulder.

"You'll probably see when we get to Tulsa." He joked, letting the purple sunset of the Texas evening and his sons' laughter settle over the dust of his past.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey everybody! Thank you to all who either reviewed or favorited or followed last chapter! Sorry this took so long to get up! My stories really tend to thrive on the feedback of others so if you're in the mood, leave a review! If not, just enjoy the story. Thanks again and have a nice week!**

"This is Tulsa?"

"This is Tulsa."

It certainly wasn't much, and Steve could tell his sons agreed by the unimpressed looks on all of their faces. The rural town hadn't changed much since he had left, save for a few buildings and more neighborhoods; however, that familiar feeling that he didn't belong was back in an instant. He knew every street name and could remember every one of his old hangout spots, but he knew he was an outsider. He knew that it wasn't his town despite having spent his entire young life there.

As he continued driving through the streets of downtown Tulsa, which appeared to be the only recognizable difference from the last time he was there, he tried to ignore the still-standing police station; a place he had been too many times for comfort. It wasn't like he was a genuine hood or prided himself on his rap sheet like Dallas Winston or Tim Shepard, but he had suffered through his fair share of nights spent in a holding cell. Downtown Tulsa hadn't always been a pleasure cruise for any young teen from the East side of town, which was why he was basically lost in the maze of tall buildings and trendy restaurants.

After a few more minutes of searching the over-populated streets, he finally found the twelve-story building branded with a red cursive title above its entrance. The hotel he had booked wasn't exactly a palace, but the Campbell was better than some dingy motel near what used to be Buck's bar and some trashy diner. Besides, he wasn't some broke kid anymore; he could afford a nice hotel for a few nights. He skillfully pulled into an open parking spot near the front and stole a glance at his watch. 1:31 PM. They had left the motel in Texas much too early for his pleasure that morning, but they wasted no time getting on the road, which paid off immensely.

"Hey, James, can you wake your brother up for me?" He requested, referring to Chance who was fast asleep, his head resting against the smudged glass window, his eyes covered by his reddish-brown bangs. James nodded eagerly as both Daniel and Steve stepped out of the car and Steve popped open the trunk, beginning to unload the four bags from within. Daniel took his own, slinging his tattered backpack over his shoulder. He took notice of his oldest son's bored expression and the way Chance stumbled from the car sleepily, blinking to keep his eyes open, feeling somewhat guilty for dragging them two states away for a wedding full of people they had no idea existed until a week prior. But, he kept his mouth shut and led the three into the lobby of the hotel, trying to force down his uncertainty and guilt.

"This place is huge..." He heard James mutter under his breath from behind him and Steve stifled a chuckle. The last time the kid had been out of the state, he was six and Steve and Alice had taken the three down to San Diego for a few days. They had stayed in a condo just a mile away from the ocean and it was the most relaxed Steve had ever felt, despite Chance's constant complaining about sand in his clothes and Daniel getting a huge sunburn while surfing.

"Steve Randle. I called about a room last Sunday." He greeted simply, placing his credit card on the desk in front of the hotel manager. He got a single room key in return, #203 printed in cracked white lettering on the key. He turned to Daniel, tossing his oldest son the key, trying not to acknowledge the fact that Chance and James were fighting once more and Daniel seemed to be more interested in a girl in shorts across the lobby than anything else going on. Steve instantly regretted trusting him with getting everything and everyone up to the room while he made a call.

"Daniel!" He snapped, grabbing his oldest son's attention and pulling his gaze away from the girl his age. "Please get everything up to the room and make sure those two don't kill each other. I have to call a buddy real quick." He ordered, still not feeling content with his decision as he watched Daniel nearly trip over a suitcase, his eyes straying back to the teenage girl immediately. Steve rolled his eyes and fished two quarters out of his shirt pocket, enclosing them in his fist as he made his way over to the payphone on the street outside the hotel. The late September heat was just beginning to settle in for the afternoon as he stepped outside, running a hand through his dark curls. Although he wouldn't admit it, his heart was basically beating out of his chest due to the overwhelming nerves. He couldn't believe he was going to make this call.

He rolled the paper he had scrawled the number Keith had given him on between his fingers. Why he was so terrified of these ten digits, he would never know, but he stood paralyzed at the payphone, staring at the graffiti scratched into the top of box that held the phone. He forced himself to bring his arm up and push the two quarters through the slot. Progress. He exhaled deeply, choosing to ignore the his knees shook beneath him. He automatically punched in the numbers, not bothering to look at the paper; he had them memorized by this point. He stood, waiting as the phone rang, wanting so badly for the earth to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole. He only hoped he didn't somehow mess up the message he had prepared beforehand. He kept his greeting simple and short, not wanting anyone on the other line to take it the wrong way.

"Hello?" The deep voice on the other end greeted and he suddenly felt his stomach drop. Time seemed to stop momentarily and Steve honestly contemplated running away from the phone and acting as if he had had never called. What a coward, he scoffed to himself, taking a deep breath as the voice questioned who was there.

"Darrel? It's, uh, Steve. Steve Randle." He elaborated, ignoring the slight tremble of his voice. Just as he was about to continue with his message, he heard a chuckle from the other line.

"Steve Randle. I don't believe it." The man mused, Steve able to hear his grin through the phone. Steve didn't grin. He didn't laugh. He just wanted the conversation to be over with.

"Look, I'm in town for Keith's wedding. I just wanted to let you know so this doesn't get awkward. No hard feelings, right?" He questioned hopefully. He was referring to the incident that took place sixteen years ago. He knew Darrel Curtis would forgive him. He knew Darrel Curtis would forget about it in less than a month. The whole argument only began because Darrel was just being a friend, trying to protect Steve. When Steve told him Alice was pregnant, the twenty-two year old was outraged. When Steve invited him to see the kid, he declined, claiming how 'irresponsible' Steve was. When Darrel finally came around, ready to apologize, Steve and his newfound family were gone. Darrel called him constantly, nearly once every day, attempting to apologize, which actually impressed Steve. He was unaware of how much emotion Superman could feel. However, Steve never returned the calls. Eventually, the man stopped calling. They both stopped caring. They hadn't spoken since. At the time, it didn't affect Steve much, just another lost relationship from a town he could care less about, full of people he couldn't care less about.

"I'm not the type to hold grudges for sixteen years," Darrel assured him with a laugh and Steve bit his tongue, not wanting to say something he'd regret. "Tell you what, everyone's over here right now. Why don't you come on over and bring the kid with you? Maureen's cooking dinner for everyone." The man offered and Steve felt himself sigh. This wasn't how he pictures the conversation going.

"Kids," he corrected, referring to Darry's earlier statement. He heard the man scoff and a shout from someone, presumably Keith, was heard from the background. He wondered if anyone had told Darry anything about his life. He wondered if the man even cared. "I have three kids and we just drove all the way over from Arizona. I think we'll pass tonight." He explained petulantly, failing to keep the attitude out of his tone.

"Steve, don't be so stubborn. Bring the kids over here, nobody'll mind. Nobody's mad at you, man." Darry assured him, the way he spoke making Steve feel just like that scared kid from Oklahoma again.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before responding with a doubtful "Alright. Same address?" He questioned, already knowing the answer.

"Same address as always," Darry confirmed, the noise in the background nearly drowning out his voice. "See you in a few, buddy." He concluded before hanging up, leaving Steve alone with just his thoughts and the dial tone. He hung up the phone, slumping against the wall of the hotel, closing his eyes tightly for a momentary repose. He couldn't believe he was going to do this. Just as he was about to open his eyes and retreat inside the hotel, he heard the front glass door open and Daniel's surly voice calling him urgently.

"Dad, can we get some food? Everyone's starving." He exaggerated with a huff and Steve finally tore his gaze away from the payphone, crumpling up the piece of paper with the phone number on it and tossing it into the street. He obliged with a simple nod, following his son back inside the hotel. His past was catching up to him, and Steve wasn't sure how he felt about it.

'Maybe it won't be that bad.' He mused to himself.

But he knew it would. It always was.

* * *

"I don't see why we can't just go to a restaurant."

Steve was thinking the exact same thing as he and his sons made their way up to the worn-down home of Darrel Curtis, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and his other shoved in his pocket. The house had barely changed, and the differences that Steve did notice didn't effect the overall feel of the house. He had kept the plain white shutters on the front windows that Steve could distinctly remember Mr. Curtis painting with his sons when he came over one morning. There was the same shabby maroon couch resting on the front porch, holes from where cigarettes had been dropped on it evident in the fabric. While Darry had obviously done some serious work on the house since the early 70's, he could feel the nostalgia hit him like a brick wall as he watched James eagerly ring the doorbell which instantly alerted a barking dog from inside. He knew he had that dry smile plastered on his face, trying to mask his terrified expression. He had no idea why he was doing this.

Steve counted the seconds for the door to be thrown open, feeling his heart beat quicken as each one passed. He had thought about this moment for years, picturing what it would look like when he finally turned up on this doorstep once more. He found it ironic, how the Curtis' home had once acted as a safe place and now his hand shook with irrepressible trepidation. He never saw himself as afraid of anything, but that changed the moment he decided to run from his problems. Vietnam hadn't taught him much, but it taught him how to be intrepid. It taught him to never look back and to watch out for yourself. So, it confused him to no end how he ended back up in Tulsa. Why did he have to look back?

The door was pulled open and Steve was greeted with a face he never planned on seeing again. It was a real shock to see the kid all grown up, but he figured he looked different too. Ponyboy Curtis had certainly outgrown his teenage years and had grown up to resemble his father and somehow both of his brothers. His hair was a tousled mess, having lost its control from all the grease, and held the same color as Darry's with a few lingering streaks of red. His eyes were still a conflicting mixture of green and gray, but they seemed less trusting and open compared to his teenage self. They weren't cold, but they weren't rather welcoming either; however, Steve figured that had to do with him being at the door. The kid held a smile almost a mile wide, not slyly or rudely, he looked relatively excited. It seemed to take him a moment to actually realize who Steve was.

"Steve Randle. That really you?" He questioned, unable to wipe the dopey grin off his face. Steve gave a curt nod, forcing himself to laugh to release the tension building up inside of him, nearly suffocating him. He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the confused glances from his sons, who seemed to be bored out of their skulls. Ponyboy took a step forward, pulling Steve into a tight hug. Steve was genuinely surprised, considering their history, but he hugged the kid back, not breaking away until Pony did. The kid invited them all inside, Pony ordering him to place his cheap bottle of wine on the kitchen counter which was crowded with cooked hot dogs. He suddenly regretted bringing alcohol when he caught a glance of all the clearly barebeque food, but set it down nonetheless.

"And who are these guys?" Pony questioned, referring to his kids, throwing James one of those signature smiles. Steve cleared his throat, trying not to let anybody see his trembling hands.

"Well, I'm sure you know Daniel," he began, attempting to keep the rigidity from his tone. "And this is Chance and James. Guys, say hi to Ponyboy Curtis." He instructed his children, shooting Daniel a dangerous look when he didn't even try to stifle his laughter. Ponyboy brushed it off though, not seeming to mind the mocking glances from Steve's sons. The man took time to shake each one of his son's hands as Steve caught Darry's eye from across the room. He felt his stomach do a literal flip, quickly tearing his gaze away from the older man as he made his way across the room to Steve and his sons.

"Glad you made it, man," he greeted, his pale blue eyes sparkling with excitement as he grabbed Steve into a near bone-crushing bear hug. Steve was simultaneously confused and conflicted by his surroudings and knew he would never pinpoint who was who. He could see two kids, one about James' age and the other around Chance's age, in the room amongst the sea of adults and he wondered whose they were. The boy who looked to be about Chance's age was sitting in Darry's old chair, his wheat-golden hair sticking up in odd places. He shared Darry's light blue eyes and looked to be a splitting image of the third Curtis brother, which shocked Steve. The girl shared the boy's blonde hair and blue eyes, but she held Ponyboy's exact grin across her pale face. Her cheeks and nose were sprinkled with light brown freckles and she spoke to a very pregnant woman, her mouth moving a mile a minute. Darry must have noticed him watching the other two kids and locked eyes with him once more. "Those are my two, Mark and Winnie," he explained, referencing the two kids and genuinely surprising Steve. He figured Winnie would have been the daughter of the ever-talkative Two-Bit or Ponyboy, but at the same time, he understood how they were both Darry's. They both had that some contemplative stare in their eyes that never told what they were truly thinking. To Steve, that was always Darry's strong suit. "They're on fall vacation right now for a week." He added, giving an explanation as to why they were home on a school day. The one thing Steve knew Darry put more importance on than family was school. He felt a pang of guilt knowing that he had just taken his three kids out of school for a week to go on a road trip, but he swallowed the though and continued his introduction nonetheless.

"Darry, this is Daniel, Chance, and James." He introduced his sons just as a woman with light blonde curls and pursed lips strode up to Darry, placing a fragile hand on his bicep. He knew her, at least. She was Maureen Hunter (now Curtis) and she was one of the hottest greaser chicks of his time. Darry and her had hooked up about the same time Steve and Sodapop were shipped to boot camp and when Steve returned a year later, they were already hitched. There was no ceremony, he heard from Ponyboy, they just woke up one morning and decided it was time. He and Maureen had always got along and Alice liked her more than he did, but he felt genuinely upset as he looked her in the eye, shaking her hand firmly, remembering the time he and Dallas Winston had talked about her body (mainly the chest area) for over an hour each day. Yes, he could remember what he was like at seventeen and he wasn't particularly proud, which was why he nearly had to send Daniel out of the room as soon as Maureen walked up.

"Pleased to meet you, boys." Darry responded before turning back to Maureen who was explaining something about dinner and drinks. He was just about to turn away and go back to talking to Ponyboy when he felt a strong arm wrap itself around his neck. He panicked, attempting to push the arm away from him, proving unseccseful as he felt another arm reach up and mess up his perfectly styled hair. Only one person he knew was completely immature enough to do such a thing.

"Get off of me, Keith!" He hissed, pulling Two-Bit Matthews' arm away from his neck frantically. He could hear Chance snicker under his breath before covering his Cheshire Cat-like grin with his hand a second later. Even at 37, the man was still suffering a severe case of Peter Pan syndrome and had never left his childlike disposition. His wedding was Saturday and Steve was floored by how he got a woman to agree to marry him when he constantly acted like a twelve year old boy. No, scratch that; a twelve year old was more mature than Two-Bit Matthews.

"C'mon, Stevie. Don't be such a buzzkill." He whined, Steve smelling the unmistakable scent of whiskey on his breath. He could see Daniel opening his mouth to make a witty remark, but he quickly silenced the boy with a harsh glare. No way in hell was he letting his sons see him as anything less thanks to his childhood "friends" who still acted the same way they did twenty years prior.

"Leave him alone, Keith. Don't wanna scare him off," Darry joked, giving Steve a playful punch on his left shoulder, not noticing the lethal look Steve shot him. He never regretted coming to a place so fast, Vietnam excluded. "You wanna come outside for a few drinks? I promise Two-Bit won't tackle you no more." He chuckled, his Midwestern drawl agitating Steve to no end. He reluctantly shook his head, glancing down at his kids.

"I-I can't. I've got my boys with me." He explained, for once grateful for the excuse. He made a point of never drinking in front of his sons. He did it when he could, but it wasn't exactly like he had hours of spare time on his hands nowadays. Between being a single father and running a garage, the only time he really could drink was in secret when the entire house had gone to sleep and he was awake and restless. Even then, whenever he picked up a can of beer he could see his father in himself, which just resulted in making him want to drink less. He genuinely couldn't remember the last time he had sat down and had a drink alone. He didn't want to.

"Just one drink, Steve-o. You can leave the kids inside. It ain't gonna turn into an all-out beer blast." Two-bit assured him with that same smile that he wore whenever he had invited Steve out as a teenager. For the record, they had always turned into beer-blasts whenever they were out as kids. Either that or somebody ended up in a brawl or slashing someone else's tires. He didn't exactly have the cleanest of times when he hung out with Two-bit.

"You guys okay with that?" He questioned as he turned towards his boys, hoping that one of them would protest. All three nodded in perfect unison, Steve swearing under his breath as he ran a hand through his now untidy hair. It was now or never. "You touch me again and you're dead, Keith." He groaned as he followed an expectant looking Ponyboy to the back porch. This wasn't going to end well, and he knew it, so why he agreed in the first place was beyond him. All he knew was that they had a lot of catching up to do, and he didn't want to be apart of any of it. But, it seemed that was his own fault.

It was always his own fault.

* * *

Chance Randle was speechless.

Never, in his entire life, had he ever seen an encounter between somebody and his father like what had just happened. He had no idea that somebody was even allowed to act like that around his dad. It was almost surreal, like maybe there was a chance it hadn't happened and he was just hallucinating.

He had heard next to nothing about Tulsa. He knew two things: it was in Oklahoma, and it was where his father grew up. There was nothing else to be said about the insignifigant town because he knew nothing else. But, now that he was actually in the place where it all happened, it was too much to take in at once. First of all, Ponyboy. The man looked to be pleased by his father's appearance, but it seemed to Chance that his dad could care less. He could briefly remember his mother mentioning something once, when he was almost too young to remember. He had just entered the first grade and claimed proudly at the dinner table that he had a brand new best friend. He had asked his parents if they had ever had a best friend and his dad fell silent. He didn't speak a word for the rest of the meal that evening and went to sleep without saying goodnight. Worried that he had upset his father, his mom had comforted him by saying his father was only upset because he had a best friend too, but they weren't friends any longer. The best friend of his father also had a widely outrageous name, but Chance couldn't quite remember what it was. He silently wondered to himself if it was Ponyboy as he took a seat on the couch in the living room next to a moody-looking Daniel. His older brother almost looked as baffled and uninformed as he did.

"Hey! My name's James. What's yours?" He could hear his younger brother exclaim excitedly, his voice only irritating and interrupting Chance's train of thought. He could see his older brother roll his eyes in agitation next to him and he heaved a sigh. This is what they had been dragged away from their home for a week for. If he was being honest, he longed to be back at home or at school, messing around with his friends and not the kids of some long-lost friend of his father.

"I'm Mark! Nice to meet you James." The boy responded in the same overly-enthusiastic tone. It wasn't mocking, however, it was almost gleeful. He had to be one of those boys who was used to being around younger kids and was skilled in communicating with them. Unfortunately, both Chance and his brother were lacking in that department and both of them seemed to resent James about 90% of the time. There was a five year difference between Chance and his younger brother and although he cared for him most of the time and made sure he ate and everything, he was constantly annoyed by the boy and couldn't stand his constant need for attention. Sometimes, he only missed his mother for her sole purpose of making sure James left him alone when he needed the silence.

"So, you guys are Uncle Steve's kids?" A girl about the same age as James questioned as she took a seat on the couch just a few inches away from Chance. He was pretty sure she was introduced as the younger sister of the boy, but he would be lying if he said he was paying attention during the introduction. He nodded nonetheless, almost surprised when she referred to his father as 'Uncle Steve' while his dad had never explained to him who any of these people were.

"You've never been to Tulsa, right?" The boy clarified, already knowing the answer. Chance locked eyes with the blonde-haired teen, not able to tear away from his blue-eyed gaze which was almost hypnotizing. He seemed indimitading, but at the same time, harmless. He withheld judgement, unable to understand exactly what this kid was getting at. "You interested in a tour of the neighborhood?" He offered, unfazed by Chance trying to size him up.

"I'll pass." Daniel scoffed, rolling his eyes once more. His older brother was never up for hanging around with new people unless that new person happened to be a girl.

"James?" The boy questioned, apparently not noticing the way James was completely fascinated with the younger sister of the blue-eyed boy sitting cross-legged on the chair. He leaned forward as James didn't reply, locking eyes with Chance once more. "What about you? Wanna get out of here?" He cocked an eyebrow, his smirk almost dangerous. Chance wondered what on earth could be so captivating about a sleepy Oklahoma town at two in the afternoon. He shrugged.

"Why not?" He replied, heaving a sigh as he stood from the couch, James almost instnslt replacing his spot next to the young girl. The boy moved to stand, but the young girl stopped him with a shout of caution.

"Mark, Ma said you aren't supposed to leave before dinner!" She protested with a whine and Mark pulled a face, obviously formulating a plan.

"Ma! Can I go outside for a few minutes?" He called towards the open back door, not receiving a reply. He went to stand anyway. "She said yes." He explained as he reached for something behind the chair, not uncrossing his legs just yet.

"Whatever, I'm not gonna be the one gettin' in trouble for heading off." She pouted, turning towards the television once more.

"Have fun." Mark smirked as he pulled two crutches out from behind the chair, slipping his arms into the cuffs towards the top of the crutches and grabbing onto a bar beneath the armholes. He slowly eased himself up off the chair and Chsnce was shocked as he uncrossed his legs and stood up, leaning on the crutches for support. The boy caught him staring and Chance looked away instantly from the empty right pant leg. "What?" He questioned harshly, his blue eyes piercing into Chance, glaring accusing daggers.

"Nothing." He repsonded without hesitation, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Good. Let's get out of here then." He requested simply, moving towards the front door and opening it. Chance averted his eyes from his leg, choosing to stare at the floor instead. Tulsa was proving itself to be a very confusing place.


End file.
